


Timing

by bigblueboxat221b



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Play, Dom Mycroft Holmes, Don't copy to another site, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation Interruptus, Sub Greg Lestrade, fatigue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-08-20 16:00:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20230519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigblueboxat221b/pseuds/bigblueboxat221b
Summary: Greg's so tired he's seeing sounds, so when Mycroft offers a nightcap, Greg suggests dinner next week, instead. Of course, he's so tired he doesn't even remember the conversation, and Mycroft has a knack for arriving when Greg's not exactly ready for visitors...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Look! Mycrofat has translated this into [Chinese](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20240065)!

“Might I offer you a celebratory nightcap?” Mycroft asked.

Greg had to blink for a second before his brain could process the request. “I’m pretty tired,” he said, enunciating carefully. Late nights and early mornings all week with a last long push today and they’d finally tied up the Proudfoot case. He’d barely had a decent few hours’ sleep, let alone a whole night, and now the night air seemed to pulse around him.

With a deep breath, Greg dug deep to finish the conversation. “Maybe next week,” he said, speaking carefully. “Should be right one night nearer the weekend?”

“Certainly,” Mycroft replied. “Thursday or Friday, then.”

“Yep,” Greg agreed. Anything to make this conversation shorter. “Come over, I’ll cook us something nice.”

Mycroft said something else, and Greg was a bit worried he’d have to reply but Mycroft turned to leave. Must have been a farewell, Greg thought slowly. Good.

Right now, he needed sleep. Thank God for constables. Greg flagged one down, using his last reserves of energy to tell the young woman in a tone that broached no arguments that she was going to drive him home.

He was home and in bed within half an hour.

When he woke, he’d forgotten Mycroft was even at the scene.

+++

Fatigue was worse than booze, Greg thought blearily to himself. Even a whole weekend off, with more hours in bed than out of it and he still wasn’t recovered days and days later. God, and the stress after the wrap up of Proudfoot case was almost worse than the case itself. He’d barely had a moment to stop and relax; he was still either working or sleeping every hour of the day.

But not tonight. It was Thursday, and there was the vaguest glimmer of light that their long hours might be over. Tonight he’d sent everyone home at a decent time and told them not to show their faces for a good 14 hours.

“Do something bloody relaxing,” he told them. “Nothing to do with work, for God’s sake.”

When the office was empty and quiet, Greg picked up his coat and finally, _finally_ headed home before the sun set. A quick stop for a decidedly average burger, and he was in his building before he would have even noticed the time on a busy night.

The door to his flat had barely shut when he was shucking his coat, kicking off his shoes and making a beeline for his kitchen. Within five minutes he’d downed a couple of fingers of Scotch and there was a puddle of clothing on the bedroom floor. He was already half hard before his hand landed on his cock. When he’d told his team to do something ‘bloody relaxing’ there was no doubt in his mind what he would be doing. One hand slowly stroking himself, Greg opened his bedside drawer one handed, finding the lube by feel. His fingers lingered on the plug he kept there, but he decided against it. Tonight felt different, he thought. He needed a fast, hard wank and an early night.

As was his habit, Greg took himself, the lube and a towel to the sofa. Spreading out the towel, he made himself comfortable, a palmful of lube sending shivers down his spine as his hand immediately started moving more smoothly. He groaned, knowing it wouldn’t last long tonight. He could already feel the weight in his pelvis, the spool winding tighter.

Greg closed his eyes, searching for something to ramp himself up higher. His brain supplied images – long legs in pinstriped trousers, pale skin peeking out from under a fine shirt cuff, a delicately raised eyebrow, amusement pooling in the grey eyes below it.

“Mycroft,” he groaned, the sound of his own voice spiking his arousal. He was louder than he’d thought he would be; he hoped his nosy neighbour wouldn’t bring it up. A breathless laugh at the idea made his rhythm stutter, and he berated himself, drawing more memories of Mycroft to bring himself back. It was easy; Greg’s brain had archived many of the best moments. Glimpses of skin, the shape of a mouth…oh, his _mouth_…

“Mycroft,” Greg panted. He was close, he could feel it, and his hand flew faster, free hand gripping the sofa as memories morphed into fantasy in his mind; Mycroft bent his head, those lips wrapping around Greg’s earlobe, the heat and pressure so real.

“Jesus…oh…Myc…” Greg heard himself, and his free hand fumbled, tugging on his earlobe, the extra stimulation pushing him over the edge. “Mycroft, fuck, My-Mycroft…oh, fuck…Myc…”

Gasping, Greg shuddered, his orgasm tearing through him. For a moment he was still, until his muscles relaxed and he slumped, breathing hard, feeling the hormones flow through his body. It was familiar and the relief made his head drop back. He’d held so much in for days, and now he was here. _Finally._ Able to relax, and now, hopefully, sleep properly. He folded the towel over, ready to drop it in his laundry basket on the way to bed.

In ten minutes, he was asleep.

+++

Friday morning, and things were finally coming together on the paperwork as he’d hoped. Miraculously, the forms Greg sent out had come back in, and he could get Sally to start collating everything they have. It’ll take more than just today, of course, but by the time lunch came and went, Greg was pretty confident they’d be able to vacate the office for the weekend. They’d dealt with everything that’d come in that morning and sent out the next round of requests for evidence and signatures, and there was no point expecting it before Monday.

Sure enough, come half five Greg was shoo-ing Sally out even as he picked up his own things.

“Get out of here,” he said. “Lord knows we deserve a proper weekend.”

“Right then,” she said, “don’t let me hear you’ve been in, though.”

Greg snorted. “No chance, not this weekend.”

“See you Monday,” she called, crossing the road to the tube station.

Greg shook his head at her. He took a deep breath and started walking the few blocks back to his flat. He had a very good idea how he was going to start this weekend.

+++

Half an hour later and Greg was blissfully unaware of almost anything except his own body and the plug he was gradually working into himself. He’d had a drink and a shower first, running his hands over his skin, relishing the slow waves of touch across his chest, his thighs, his stomach. The water had been hot, and he’d barely dried himself more than a quick ruffle over his hair; the water evaporating off his skin tingled, heightening his awareness of his naked skin.

It was much better than the quick excuse for a wank he’d had last night. Now he had time to enjoy it, to anticipate what he was going to do with his body. He hadn’t made plans, exactly, instead deciding to see where the mood took him. As it turned out, the mood took him to his bed, plenty of lube coating his fingers as he coaxed himself open, deliberately taking it slow. He had nowhere to be, nothing to do until Monday morning. Hour and hours to tease himself in any way he wanted and hopefully forget all the shit that had gone down over the last couple of weeks.

With a gasp and groan the plug slid home, settling in a familiar place inside him. Greg lay still for a moment, allowing his fluttering muscles to acclimatise. Difficult as it was to remain still, Greg knew if he could hold it together now for a few minutes, the payoff would be worth it. He gripped his cock, palm still slick from earlier, squeezing the base a little. Teasing himself, knowing he wasn’t going to thrust into his hand like he wanted to.

Just as he thought he might be able to move – getting up and doing something mundane, naked and with the plug in always gave him a thrill – something from outside his flat made him freeze.

A heavy thud. Someone shouting. A man, possibly Dennis from across the hall?

Greg groaned. “Not now,” he whispered to himself. He lay as still as possible, praying (or as close as he came to it) for the noise to settle.

Nobody listened, which wasn’t a surprise.

The voice shouted again, and this time to Greg’s dismay, someone thumped on his front door.

”Fuck,” he swore.

The thumping came again, this time with his name shouted. Definitely Dennis. Rolling carefully off the bed, grumbling to himself, Greg grabbed a pair of loose tracksuit pants and a t-shirt. He cursed the day he’d mentioned his job to Dennis. The man came banging on his door for any infraction, real or imagined. Greg was in half a mind to try and get a restraining order against the man, but he knew it would be more or less useless with them living so close.

It wasn’t until he was halfway across the living room Greg realised it might not be a great idea to answer the door with a plug in his arse.

“Too late,” he muttered to himself. It usually only took a couple of minutes anyway. Listen a bit, bite his tongue at the man’s frankly atrocious grasp of civil rights and responsibilities and send him on his way. As long as he was gravely attentive and vague enough about the actual legalities, Greg could get rid of him fairly quickly.

As long as it was just him, of course.

When he opened the door, Dennis was closest, but the man standing across the hall caught Greg’s eye first.

“Mycroft?” he asked in surprise. A flustered moment, then he tried for casual, leaning against the doorframe. Some of his internal muscles clenched automatically and he gritted his teeth as the plug shifted inside him.

_Oh no. This is not good…_

“Dennis,” Greg said with his public relations smile. “What can I do for-”

“Detective Inspector,” Dennis said superciliously, cutting across Greg, “arrest this man!”

The dramatic statement was married with an equally dramatic wave of his arm, indicating Mycroft.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s happened?” Greg said. He shot an apologetic look at Mycroft. The man looked embarrassed, Greg registered dimly before his attention was caught once again by Dennis.

“He has been loitering in this hallway,” Dennis said. “Two evenings in a row!”

Greg sighed. He really didn’t have the patience today for this. “This is legally considered a public space, Dennis,” he said patiently. Before the protest could fall from his neighbour’s mouth, Greg added, “and he’s a friend of mine.”

‘Friend’ might have been a stretch, but Greg wasn’t going to let Dennis ruin either his night or Mycroft’s by calling the local station. He’d dealt with that before and it was the kind of irritation that could colour his whole weekend.

Dennis’ mouth snapped shut, and he looked suspiciously between Greg and Mycroft. “This,” he said, voice heavy with scepticism, “is a friend of yours?”

Greg raised one eyebrow, not rising to the bait. “Problem?” he asked.

“Of course not…”

“Detective Inspector,” Greg supplied.

“Yes,” Dennis said. He glanced at Mycroft again before turning to scurry back to his flat.

“Have a good night,” Greg muttered, not really intending to be heard.

“Thank you,” Mycroft murmured.

“What are you doing here?” Greg asked, then winced at his own rudeness. “Jesus. Come in, Mycroft.”

Mycroft hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“Well we can’t talk out here,” Greg replied. He pushed the door open again, waiting for Mycroft to precede him in.

“Sorry,” Greg muttered. “Dennis is a pain in the arse, as you can tell.”

“Nosy neighbours are part and parcel of inner city living, as I understand,” Mycroft murmured.

Greg leaned against the table but quickly stood again as the pressure inside him shifted. He really needed to remember not to do anything that would put pressure on his arse right now. Christ, this was fast approaching a nightmare.

“Yeah,” Greg said. “So look, I don’t mean to be rude, but was there a reason you’re here?” He blinked. “Assuming you’re here to see me.”

Mycroft stared at him, a slight smile forming. _He looks nervous. Still._ “It is Friday night, is it not?”

“Yes,” Greg replied. He was looking blankly at Mycroft, he knew, but knowing the day didn’t make the situation any clearer.

“Do you not remember our conversation last week?” Mycroft ventured.

“Our conversation?” Greg repeated. “Look, I’m sorry, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Mycroft sighed, his face flushing a little. “We were conversing after the Proudfoot case was resolved. I suggested a nightcap and you deferred, citing fatigue.”

“Right,” Greg replied. He had only the vaguest memory of that conversation. He’d been tired enough to see sound by that point, he thought. “I don’t even remember you being there, to be honest.” He winced. “Sorry.”

“Of course,” Mycroft replied. “It had been a trying week.”

“Yeah,” Greg agreed.

“In place of a nightcap you suggested I come here late this week.” His flush darkened as he admitted, “You offered to cook for me.”

“I did?” Greg repeated. “Shit, sorry.” Had he hit on Mycroft? Jesus, he must have been tired to let those boundaries down. “Well I’m glad you didn’t show up last night, I pretty much crashed…what?”

At the mention of the previous evening Mycroft’s face had suffused with a deep red and he averted his gaze, clearing his throat uncomfortably.

“Mycroft?” Greg asked. Something was weird. “What?”

“I did show up last night,” Mycroft whispered. His voice was low, full of the resignation of someone bound to tell a story full of discomfort. “I arrived and knocked, but there was no response. I waited and knocked again,” he closed his eyes, “and would have left had I not heard…”

In the half second it took Mycroft to draw a shaky breath and speak, Greg knew what he was going to say. It was like watching a car crash; he knew what was going to happen but was powerless to stop it.

“…my name from inside your flat.”

Greg clenched his own eyes closed, feeling his face instantly suffuse with embarrassment. Of all the nights…that night he remembered, of course. Not even in his bedroom, he’d been on the sofa, that much closer to the door. _Jesus._

“Right,” Greg managed. What the hell was he supposed to say now?

Without thinking, he pulled out a chair and dropped into it, his head falling towards his hands at the exact moment his arse hit the seat and the round head of the plug inside him hit his prostate.

“Jesus Christ!” Greg barely heard himself shout, such was the bolt of arousal that shot through his body. He convulsed, the action violent enough to throw him off the chair and he crumpled to the floor, panting hard.

“Gregory!”

He vaguely heard his own name, startled and far away. Holding very still, Greg waited while the pulses inside him subsided. He blinked, realising he was on his kitchen floor. Not sitting down, thank God, but resting on one hip, hands braced on the floor.

Right beside Mycroft.

Greg’s brain raced to piece everything together.

Mycroft had heard him last night. When Greg sat down in mortification, he’d inadvertently pressed the plug against his prostate, just about making himself pass out. Certainly making him jerk hard enough that he fell off his chair, and evidently Mycroft dropped to his knees in alarm.

Well if he’d thought nothing could be as humiliating as last night, Greg had found a new contender. One thing was for sure, though, he was _not_ telling Mycroft what actually just happened.

Even he had standards.

“Are you alright?” Mycroft asked.

Greg nodded, wincing at a pain in his elbow as he gingerly stood up. “Yeah,” he replied, rubbing at it.

Mycroft stood too, his whole body radiating an awkward kind of puzzlement. “Well,” he started, “I should go.”

Greg felt like a heel agreeing with him, but he was hardly in a position to offer the guy a quiet night in. Mutely, he nodded.

“If it’s not too much trouble, might I use your facilities before I go?” Mycroft asked.

“Yeah, sure,” Greg said, waving him through the bedroom to the bathroom. He took the few moments to try and collect himself. The least he could do was say goodbye properly, after the events of the evening. Christ, it had been a disaster from start to finish.

When Mycroft walked back in Greg was ready with a smile. “Sorry about how all this went,” he said, knowing he still sounded awkward.

Mycroft, to his surprise, looked unsure for a moment before a flash of resolve crossed his face. “Given the events of the evening,” he said, “would you mind if I asked a somewhat personal question?”

Greg felt his face grow warm, and he looked apprehensively at Mycroft. Slowly, he nodded. What had prompted this? He could have sworn Mycroft was as ready to bolt as he was to farewell him. And now he wanted to chat?

Mycroft cleared his throat, but his eyes were steady on Greg. “You said you don’t remember our conversation at the crime scene last week,” he started, and Greg nodded. _Where’s he going with this?_ “Given…what happened last night,” he went on with a relieving level of delicacy, “can I assume an offer of a meal would have been…you might have had intentions of a romantic nature?”

Greg blinked, taking the unnecessarily complicated question and simplifying it.

_Was it a date?_ He swallowed. They were a long way past denial by now. He might as well put it out there so they could forget this horrific weekend ever happened and get on with their lives.

“Yeah,” he admitted.

Mycroft nodded. “I would have assumed so,” he said, then amended himself, “I did assume so.”

“You did?” Greg asked him. “Seriously?”

“Yes,” Mycroft said. He paused for a second and added carefully, “and please consider that after what I overheard last night, I did return this evening.”

Greg looked at him. “You did,” he said slowly. He frowned. “Would you have told me you’d been here last night? I mean, if Dennis hadn’t banged on my door?”

“Possibly not,” Mycroft admitted. “Not immediately, at least.”

“Not immediately?” Greg asked. When Mycroft hesitated, he said, “Come on, no point hiding now.”

“I’ll answer honestly if you’ll answer one of mine,” Mycroft said.

Greg felt his eyebrows rise in surprise. It felt like a challenge. “Okay,” he said, and his heart kicked up.

“Not immediately,” Mycroft repeated, “as I had hoped we might begin a more personal relationship. In time, if we reached an appropriate level of security in our connection…I would have told you.”

_An appropriate level of security_ _in our connection…He wanted to be sure I wouldn’t leave him if he told me._

Greg’s head was reeling. “You were hoping we’d get together?”

“I did,” Mycroft replied. “I do.” His eyes were still on Greg, and the calm honesty was a little disconcerting. Greg never had someone being so honest with him; not at work, and certainly not in his personal life, or what passed for a personal life these days.

_Jesus, indeed._

“And now,” Mycroft asked, “would you answer my question as honestly?”

Greg nodded, mute. He had the strange idea that Mycroft knew exactly what he was going to ask even before they’d had that part of the conversation.

“Were you masturbating when I arrived this evening?”

Greg barked a laugh. He didn’t have a particular expectation, but that was right out of left field. Swallowing hard, holding Mycroft’s gaze, he nodded, knowing his face was burning again.

“And if I might be allowed a follow up question,” Mycroft said, his gaze suddenly hot, “did you answer the door in full knowledge of the toy lodged inside you?”

“Jesus, Mycroft,” Greg gasped. That voice, talking about sex, and his eyes…

Stepping closer, Mycroft lowered his chin and suddenly the word ‘predatory’ came into Greg’s head. Rather than alarm, his body flooded with arousal at the thought.

“I assume your neighbour interrupted your entertainment,” Mycroft purred, “and you moved to answer the door without thinking. When did you remember, Gregory?” Mycroft was close now, and Greg couldn’t take his eyes off the slow progression across the kitchen. “Did I see it shift inside you when you leaned against the doorframe?”

Swallowing again – since when was his throat so dry? – Greg nodded.

Mycroft’s smile widened, his chin dropping, eyes still pinned to Greg. “And I would wager our conversation drove the idea out of your head earlier, and you inadvertently…sat.” Somehow that last word lingered, as though Mycroft was relishing the taste of it in his mouth.

Glancing at his watch, Mycroft made a tsk-tsk sound. “I don’t know how long you usually leave such a toy inside you, Gregory, but should you desire help with its removal,” his eyes glittered, “I would be all too happy to help.”

_Jesus._


	2. Chapter 2

Greg stood still, breathing into the silence long enough for Mycroft’s eyebrow to rise. “Well?”

_Fuck it._

Greg nodded, his mouth suddenly dry. Mycroft’s eyes had captured his and he couldn’t look away. The pulse through him was pounding hard, throbbing in his ears, in his chest, in his groin. Whatever he’d thought this evening would be he had not imagined this would be part of it.

As soon as he nodded, Mycroft’s mouth twitched into a smile that made Greg’s cock pulse again.

“Well,” Mycroft purred, “perhaps we should make ourselves more comfortable.”

Greg nodded again. He had no idea exactly what Mycroft had in mind, but already the dynamic was swirling between them and he could feel himself settle into his naturally submissive role, trusting Mycroft, enjoying his subtle dominance.

Mycroft’s hand rose, two fingers stroking leisurely down the fabric of his tie. Greg’s eyes were pulled to the action and he watched, mesmerised by the slow, almost meditative pace. When they reached the single button holding his jacket closed, Greg’s breath hitched. His fingers circled the button as though contemplating opening it. Greg found himself waiting, the anticipation building in him until those long fingers flicked lazily and the button released.

Greg exhaled, almost a groan as the release hit him.

_Jesus actual Christ._

Mycroft hummed, a pleased sound that pulled Greg’s eyes back up to his face. The glittering in his eyes was still there, and now satisfaction too, as though Greg had pleased him. The swirl of gratification in him at the idea he’d pleased Mycroft was deep and familiar from a long time ago. It had been a long time since he’d played like this.

With that smile, Mycroft shed his coat and jacket, hanging them over the back of a chair without taking his eyes from Greg’s.

“We could take our time,” Mycroft said, “if you’re amenable.”

Another nod.

“You are free to speak, Gregory,” Mycroft told him.

“I know,” Greg said, his voice breaking. “Not sure how…to.”

Mycroft’s smile continued to grow. His fingers roamed, taking out his cufflinks, turning up his sleeves. Greg’s eyes greedily devoured the new expanses of skin. Pale, smooth, his mouth watered at the sight, but he didn’t move.

“You see something you like?” Mycroft asked, his voice mild as he unpinned his tiepin.

Greg hadn’t realised his reactions were so obvious. Had his brain been working more fully he would have expected Mycroft to see them. His exceptional observational skills now had a different tilt. Greg could see how it would be very useful, having a partner that could read you so well.

“Gregory,” Mycroft’s voice drawled, and Greg blinked, taking in the kitchen again. Mycroft was leaning against the table, looking absolutely at home in Greg’s kitchen. Sleeves rolled up, collar unbuttoned, and he was threading his tie through his fingers as though debating what to do with it.

“Yeah?” Greg said.

“Shall we make you more comfortable?” Mycroft’s eyes meandered down Greg’s body, and the erection that had waned a little came filling out again with a vengeance. It felt like a caress, his heated skin already sensitive to the brush of his loose clothing, but this was intentional, deliberate and far, far more arousing.

When Mycroft took a step closer, Greg’s body flooded with awareness. He moved right into Greg’s space, easing so close Greg could have swayed and brushed against his body. Greg held still, wanting to close his eyes but worried he might fall over without visual cues. He could feel the breath rushing into and out of his body, and concentrating on it gave him a point of focus, even while Mycroft drew almost his whole attention.

“I find explicit consent…important,” Mycroft said softly from behind him. Greg had to stop himself jumping at the sudden wash of hot breath across his neck. He swallowed, his breathing coming even more harshly in his lungs.

“I would very much like to touch you,” Mycroft said. “I would like to trail my fingers over your exposed skin.”

Greg shuddered hard, wondering if he’d even make it to the point of being undressed. He felt the plug ease a little as his muscles clenched, and had to bite back a moan at the sensation.

“Yes,” he said hoarsely. “Yes please.”

He tensed, wondering where the first point of contact would be. The anticipation again, and when Mycroft’s fingers touched on the back of his neck, another shudder coursed through his body. The touch was initially light but Mycroft rested his hand a little more firmly, exploring the shape of Greg’s neck. He closed his eyes, relishing the careful touch.

The air shifted as Mycroft stepped around him, and the fingers moved smoothly, trailing around the side of his jaw, rubbing the wrong way against his five o’clock shadow. He jumped when another touch fluttered against his neck on the other side, before pressing harder, and it took a second to realise Mycroft was taking the pulse in his neck.

“Your heart is racing,” Mycroft murmured, amusement thick and heavy in his voice.

His fingers touched every square inch of skin to Greg’s collar, before jumping to his arms. The sensitive skin at his elbows, the shape of his forearms; Greg stood still, wondering how long Mycroft intended to draw this out. He had to concentrate so his internal muscles wouldn’t keep tightening around the plug; it was forcing him to pull some concentration away from Mycroft, which might now be all that was keeping him from coming right now.

“May I ask you to remove your clothing?”

In theory, it was a question, but there was no part of Greg that would deny Mycroft anything right now. It was a matter of a second to pull his t-shirt off his head; Greg had no idea where it ended up, and he didn’t hesitate to hook his thumbs into the elastic of his tracksuit pants and drop them either. He tried not to bend over too far; as it was, he could feel the firm press inside him as he tilted forward, pulling a groan from his throat. The waistband brushed along the length of his cock and he drew in his breath; he’d forgotten to allow enough space, and the unexpected stimulation sent a shock through him.

The air shifted past his skin, and Greg felt goose bumps rise as he stood, waiting for Mycroft to speak. Or move. Or anything. He swallowed, focussing his gaze on the tie Mycroft had hung loosely around his neck; that would explain how he’d had both hands free, then. Greg hadn’t realised he’d wondered about that until he saw the tie. Clearly part of his brain was still functioning outside of all this. He wasn’t sure if that was good or not.

“Gregory,” Mycroft said, his eyes raking hungrily over his skin. “You are magnificent.”

Greg wanted to say something in protest, but from the look on Mycroft’s face, he wasn’t kidding. Whatever he could see that Greg could not, he was impressed, and – if Greg’s eyes were seeing right – increasingly aroused. The front of Mycroft’s trousers had no waistcoat, jacket or coat to cover the almost visibly increasing swelling Greg was certain he saw.

“I was wondering,” Mycroft said, trailing his tie again through his fingers, “how you felt about being lightly restrained.”

From the way he was fondling that tie – there really was no other word for it – he had definitely ideas.

“You’ll ruin your tie,” Greg said.

Mycroft shrugged. “There are more ties,” he said. “Unless you would prefer not to-”

“No,” Greg said quickly, “I’d prefer…to.”

“Excellent,” Mycroft said. “Perhaps you could lead the way to your bedroom, if you would be comfortable there?” His eyes glittered again. “Unless the sofa is your preference?”

“Bedroom’s fine,” Greg said. He hesitated a moment. “But first…”

“Yes?” Mycroft said.

“Can I kiss you?” Greg asked. His fists clenched, unable to stop his eyes flicking down to Mycroft’s mouth. This was all well and good – he was almost unbearably aroused – but he wanted to stop for a second, to connect with Mycroft for a moment before whatever happened next.

“Certainly,” Mycroft said. His eyes softened as Greg reached for him. Greg found one hand on the back of his head, the other on his waist as he pulled Mycroft close. He wasted no time being tentative; even the new wave of scent around him ramped his arousal up and he was kissing Mycroft almost fiercely, wanting the connection, the more personal intimacy he craved and never seemed to get during sex these days. Even the conversation with Mycroft, the implicit trust in their words, in the way Mycroft listened to him and obviously considered his wants and needs, made him feel more cared for than most of the one night stands that constituted his sex life lately.

Despite his desire to be close, Greg was very aware of his own nudity and Mycroft’s undoubtedly expensive trousers, and he was careful to keep his hips back. He doubted Mycroft would be very pleased to have to clean body fluids off his clothes. Only a small part of him was surprised that Mycroft realised what he was doing; his hands suddenly slid lower, settling on Greg’s hips and pulling him closer, leaving Greg with no doubt as to the state of things inside Mycroft’s trousers. He groaned as his cock rubbed against the fine wool of Mycroft’s trousers. It was decadently filthy, knowing he was probably ruining Mycroft’s suit, and this sudden shift in angle when Mycroft pulled on his hips pressed the plug squarely against his prostate again.

“Jesus,” Greg groaned, his head dropping backwards. He suddenly couldn’t wait; Greg turned, stumbling a little as he lead Mycroft into his bedroom.

“Patience,” Mycroft murmured in his ear. Greg felt one hand on his shoulder, resting for a moment, making him stop and breathe deeply. “If I still have your permission…”

Heart thumping, Greg saw Mycroft step in front of him, the tie dangling from one hand. He felt his hands drawn together in front of him, the tie looped around his wrists.

“Not too tight?” Mycroft murmured.

Greg shook his head – he could get loose fairly easily, if he wanted to. Not that he did – he still had no idea what Mycroft might have in mind, yet he was anticipating it. The freedom not to have to think was heady.

“Now let’s see what we can do about relieving you of this,” Mycroft murmured, his fingers trailing down Greg’s arse, ever so subtly ghosting inward, toward the base of the plug. “Assuming you’re still interested in my help?”

“Christ, yes,” Greg gasped, leaning into Mycroft’s kiss.

“And,” Mycroft asked, fingertips still teasing, trailing around Greg’s arse without actually touching anything, “what else did you have in mind for the rest of the evening?”

Greg’s fingers gripped Mycroft’s shoulders, glad there was fabric to cling to. A few minutes ago he was worried about wrecking Mycroft’s trousers; now he was at the very least wrinkling this shirt, and probably stretching it out of shape, but _Jesus_…

“Well my plans were for solo fun,” Greg said, using all available parts of his brain to put the words together in a sentence. “But since you’re here...”

“You’d be amenable to something shared?” Mycroft asked.

“Yes, please, Mycroft, Jesus…” Greg gabbled as two of Mycroft’s fingers landed on the base of the plug, tapping gently. He felt the vibrations through his body, rippling out all the way to his fingertips with a lingering tingle.

“Might I share my own ideas?” Mycroft asked.

“Please,” Greg squeaked.

“Given the chance,” Mycroft said, and his voice was deeper and a little rough, the only evidence Greg could hear of his own arousal, “I would fuck you right through this mattress.”

Greg paused, the shock of such a graphic response stopping everything until the floodgates opened and he found himself lunging forward, kissing Mycroft as hard as he could without hands to grab him.

“Please,” Greg panted, as Mycroft stepped away, breaking the kiss. “Please, yes…I want that.”

“Very well,” Mycroft said, though the strain in his voice and his trousers told Greg he wasn’t as indifferent as he might appear. He eased behind Greg, helping him shuffle forward until the bed hit his shins. Greg’s heart leaped as he knelt on the mattress. Instinctively he leaned forward, but Mycroft held him upright.

“Patience,” Mycroft said again, one hand on Greg’s hip. In direct contrast, Greg felt his throat tear at the moan when Mycroft licked a wide stripe up his neck at the same time as that hand slid across his belly, fingers curling around his cock. Over his own heavy breathing, Greg heard Mycroft’s stifled moan accompany the sound of a zipper being eased down. Jesus, was he going to do this without getting undressed? The idea of the shirtsleeves, and those slim cut trousers, normally so impeccably presented, but now, probably bearing traces of Greg…he was sure Mycroft felt the throb in his cock at the idea.

“You’ll need to relax,” Mycroft murmured in his ear.

Greg’s heart sped up as Mycroft’s foot pressed on his insole, making him widen his stance. “Good,” Mycroft whispered. He eased Greg forward a little, just tilting his hips as his free hand found the base of the plug. This time Greg could feel fingertips curling around it and he swallowed as it eased out a little before pressing in again. The stretch was tantalising as Mycroft lingered, and he found himself almost panting at the slow slide. From the rough breathing in his ear, Mycroft was enjoying it too.

Finally the grip around the base changed, and Greg felt Mycroft’s hand tighten around the base of his cock. “Breathe for me,” Mycroft said, and the outward pressure increased until the wide bulb lingered, stretching Greg open, twisting a little until it eased out of his body. Greg gasped, muscles clenching and fluttering around the emptiness. He heard a thunk as it landed on the bed somewhere. Gentle hands were on his wrists, turning his palms upward. Greg didn’t know what was going on but he didn’t even care; he trusted Mycroft to be in charge. To make decisions in both their best interests. Christ knew Greg approved so far, so he waited as the hands lifted from his body for a moment. Mycroft squirted some lube into Greg’s hands, turning him until he was close enough to Mycroft’s open flies to reach inside. With Mycroft’s encouragement, Greg wrapped his fingers around Mycroft’s cock, two long slow slides spreading the thick liquid over his skin. He heard the shuddered exhalation, matched by a powerful throb through Mycroft’s cock. Thank God it wasn’t only him. Mycroft was enjoying this too, and not just as a power game.

As they stood chest to chest, Mycroft dropped his head, kissing Greg hard, groaning into his mouth as Greg’s fingers tightened reflexively around his cock. It was an awkward angle with the tie holding his wrists together, but Greg fancied he could make Mycroft appreciate the position anyway; fingers tracing his shape, exploring down to the root and beyond, pressing behind his balls with slicked up fingers…

“Too much,” Mycroft panted, taking Greg’s forearms, turning him back towards the bed. A breathless smile ghosted over his face, at the trembling in Mycroft’s hands as much as his own eagerness for what might come next. Greg panted as Mycroft stood behind him, one hand pressing carefully on his upper back, helping him lean forward, guiding him to open wide and vulnerable. Greg’s knees were spread wide, and he could feel Mycroft standing between them, hands clenching on his hips. Christ, it always did it for him, the submissive post that offered everything to a partner. The right partner, now with fingers leaving bruises on his hips with the force of his grip, and he wasn’t even inside Greg yet. The bump of his cock against Greg’s balls made him gasp, and Mycroft’s hand smoothed down his back.

“Ready?” he asked, voice low and controlled in a way that suggested it was taking an awful lot of will power to sound that way.

“Please,” Greg said, dropping his head, knowing his shoulders were shaking as he waited. Mycroft’s cock rubbed over his entrance, still loose and wet, and he clenched involuntarily at the sensation.

“Relax for me,” Mycroft said, and Greg tried, taking a deep breath and trying not to think about it too much, but the press of Mycroft against his body was too much not to respond. He breathed out, the groan deep and elemental as he felt Mycroft breach him, stretching wide as Greg drew him in, wanting him closer, deeper. More. He was inexorable, moving slowly without stopping until Greg felt fabric brush the back of his thighs.

“Jesus Christ,” Greg panted, resting his head on his hands as his body adjusted to this sensation. It was a long, long time since he’d taken for a partner. The plug was one thing, but feeling Mycroft’s hand on his back, hearing him breathing, the flutter as his fingers trembled…nothing compared to having a partner, and the fact that it was Mycroft Holmes currently buried inside him as he’d fantasised about for longer than Greg cared to remember was almost unbelievable.

When Mycroft had held still for what felt like an age, Greg shifted his hips, groaning at the slip inside him. “Please,” he moaned, needing Mycroft to move, to scratch the itch that was the arousal now swirling in him. He needed something moving, rubbing against his flesh. Something to push him closer to the edge. Mycroft. He needed Mycroft to make this real, to show him it wasn’t just another dream or fantasy.

Without a word, Mycroft’s hand curled around his shoulder and his hips eased back before pushing forward once more, sliding deep into Greg with a single motion, long and smooth. Someone groaned, and Greg had no idea if he’d made the noise or was just thinking it – or it might have been Mycroft. Greg didn’t know, but when Mycroft started a regular rhythm, moving without pause, all other thoughts were pushed from his brain. He melted into a state of being, not thinking, just existing as Mycroft moved within him. His throat hurt, his arms ached, and pulses of pure bliss radiated out from deep within his body. It came upon him sharp and fast, driving impossibly higher until he exploded, bursting outwards, only the shaking of his whole body telling him he still held a corporeal form.

It was probable he blacked out; all Greg knew was he was suddenly lying on a weird angle on his bed, limbs heavy. Mycroft was lying close, wrapped around Greg, murmuring something in his ear, panting breaths marking his own exertion. From the wet, sore state of his body, Greg surmised that Mycroft had come too, probably burying himself deep. The idea made Greg want to purr with contentment. He’d done that, and without even trying very much. Whatever Mycroft saw in him, it sure as hell worked, and his cool dominance did the same for Greg.

Greg hoped this wasn’t a one off.

Turning to Mycroft – just his head, the rest of him wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon – Greg grinned. “Thanks for helping,” he said, hearing the gravel in his voice. Christ, that was going to remind him of this for days. Not that he was going to forget anytime soon.

“Did you send me through your bedroom on purpose?” Mycroft asked abruptly.

Greg blinked, having no idea what Mycroft was talking about. “What?” he managed.

Mycroft smiled, one finger stroking across the ridge of Greg’s collarbone. “Earlier, when I asked to use the facilities,” he said, “you directed me through the bedroom. In your haste to answer the door,” Mycroft explained, a smile tugging at the edge of this mouth, “you left several items on your bed.”

“Ah.” That was how Mycroft had made that leap, then. “The lube.”

“And a wet towel, a rumpled bed, and an empty whiskey glass,” Mycroft added. “The evidence was clear.”

“To you,” Greg replied.

“Yes,” Mycroft agreed without a trace of modesty.

Greg sighed, stretching. He was content, he thought lazily. What an unexpectedly excellent beginning to his weekend.

“So,” he said, “if you thought this might be a date, did you think we might get here tonight?”

Mycroft considered this for a moment. “Hoped, perhaps,” he allowed. Fingers still stroked across Greg’s skin, leaving heat in their wake. “Are you alright?”

Greg nodded, feeling a smile break across his face as he looked at Mycroft. “Hell yes,” he said. A wave of uncertainty flowed through him and he added, “You?”

“Yes,” Mycroft murmured, pressing a kiss into Greg’s shoulder. “I find that I am.”

“Any plans for the rest of the weekend?” Greg asked.

“Not specifically,” Mycroft replied. “I believe I have some…personal time owing.”

“Personal time?” Greg repeated, shifting his weight and meeting Mycroft’s eyes. “How personal are we talking here?”

“Oh Gregory,” Mycroft purred, his eyes glinting possessively, “I imagine it could be exceptionally intimate, if we tried.”


End file.
